


Even Sky Gods are Mortal

by travellinglemon



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Angst, Gen, One Shot, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:38:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinglemon/pseuds/travellinglemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First Officer Douglas Richardson isn't as indestructible as he'd like everyone to believe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Sky Gods are Mortal

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted here from my LiveJournal. Unbeta-ed and unbrit-picked.

Stumbling in to the bathroom, Douglas fumbled along the wall for the light switch. Light blinded him for a second as he half ran half fell to the sink and heaved into the basin.

Shivering and steadying himself on the bench, he washed his mouth out with water and looked at himself in the large mirror. It was a grim sight, his face deathly pale and dripping with sweat, bits of his greying hair stuck down in places. The bags under his tired eyes made him look ten years older than he really was and he could almost see his cheekbones sticking out from the gaunt face that was once so nicely round. His head felt like it was splitting in two, a familiar pain from when he used to drink, but never as bad as it had been for the past few mornings. Douglas splashed his face with cold water in an attempt to wake himself up and staggered back to his bedroom. He threw on his now noticeably loose pilot’s uniform and tossed his pyjamas on to the unmade bed. He was usually a fastidiously tidy man, but he didn’t have the energy to clean up after himself, and besides, who was going to see his house anyway?

The old pilot found himself staring vacantly into his bare fridge. Not being able to stomach anything, he downed a couple of painkillers instead, tried in vain to make his hair look respectable and grabbed his bag. The bright winter’s sunlight seemed to burn itself onto the back of his eyes as he fumbled for his car keys.

Resting his head back on the headrest, Douglas closed his eyes and waited for his headache to subside enough to drive. There was something worrying about how long it was taking; he’d woken up every morning for the past few weeks with a splitting headache, but he’d vomit and take a couple of pain killers and be fine enough by the time he got to work. Today, on the other hand, it seemed to be getting worse. Douglas pushed the thought to the back of his mind and drove himself to Fitton airfield on autopilot.

Thanking his lucky stars that Martin was running late this morning, Douglas silently slid through the portacabin, nodding to Carolyn, who was deep in conversation with some poor sod on the phone. Carolyn he could count on to be so absorbed in her own problems that she wouldn’t notice, and Arthur probably wouldn’t notice if he’d changed gender but Martin was a different story altogether, he noticed everything.

“Douglas?” Martin called out, banging on the bathroom door, to no response, “Douglas, I know you’re in there!”

He tried the handle, it was unlocked and he gently pushed the door open. The sight that met his eyes made his stomach drop; Douglas was sprawled on the floor cradling the toilet, his deathly pale, damp face resting on the seat.

“Douglas,” Martin breathed, dashing the few steps to his friend slumped on the floor, shaking his shoulder lightly. Douglas wearily opened his eyes and tried to peel his face off the seat. Eyes slowly focussing on Martin’s anxious face, he tried to sit up but fell sideways, ending slumped against the wall.

“Christ, Douglas you’re a mess!”

“It’s just a virus, I’m fine,” he replied, slurring slightly.

“A virus?” Martin asked incredulously. Douglas merely nodded.

“It’s not a bloody virus, Douglas, I’m not an idiot!”

Douglas opened his mouth to argue but Martin cut him off.

“You’ve lost what, 20 pounds? I know you’ve been having headaches for weeks. It’s hard not to notice when you’re in a small room with someone for hours on end. They’re getting worse aren’t they?”

He nodded again.

“Have you been to a doctor?”

“No.”

“Douglas! I’m taking you to the hospital right now, there’s something seriously wrong with you!”

“No. I don’t need a doctor.”

“Don’t play the Tough Man act with me, Richardson, you pretend you’re fine but when you think no ones looking I can see you’re scared!”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not-“

“Leave it, Martin!” Douglas warned, some of his usual colour back in his voice.

Opening his mouth to argue, Martin decided against provoking him in such a frail state and settled on, “I’ll get you a glass of water,” instead.

Sipping the water, Douglas seemed to be perking up a bit, much to Martin’s relief.

“I’ve told Carolyn I’m taking you home, if the client rings, which he's bound to now of course after a week on standby, she’ll just cancel and refund him. You can’t fly like this.”

He could see Douglas trying to think of a response but deep down he knew Martin was right.

“Let’s get you up then, I’ve got a cab waiting to take you home.”

Douglas tried to stand up but slumped back against the wall, legs shaking with the strain of trying to hold up his weight. Martin grabbed him around the waist and helped him to his feet. Pulling one clammy arm across his back, Martin heaved Douglas onto his shoulder and half carried him out of the bathroom. Martin couldn’t help notice how much weight his co-pilot had lost, he could feel ribs digging into his side as he hauled the limp man to the waiting cab.

Douglas tried in vain to keep his eyes open as the cab drove the short distance to his house. In a few minutes his head was lolling on Martin’s shoulder. When they arrived at Douglas’ house, Martin hauled him back over his shoulder and half dragged him inside.

Letting Douglas slump down on his couch, Martin went to look for painkillers in the kitchen. He saw empty drug bottles strewn over the benches and a sink piled with empty glasses but no plates or cutlery. So he hadn’t been eating then, that explained the weakness. And by the looks of things had been taking every sort of drug on the planet. Martin felt his stomach sink, this had been going on for a lot longer than he had expected. He couldn’t bare the thought of Douglas being so ill and not telling anyone, let alone refusing to seek medical help.

Head still throbbing, Douglas sat up in his own lounge room. He couldn’t remember how he got there and almost jumped when Martin emerged from the kitchen carrying what looked and smelled like toast.

“Here,” he said, holding the plate out to him, “You’ve got to eat something.”

Douglas took the plate and obediently took a bite.

“Thanks, Martin, but you can, uh, go if you want.”

“You are joking right? You can barely stand!”

“I’m-“

“Do not say you’re fine, Douglas! If there is one thing you’re definitely not it’s fine! Christ, you’ve got to start taking care of yourself!”

Douglas just looked down at his lap, he knew his friend was right, he just couldn’t bear to admit the fact that he really was ill. He would rather die than become dependent on someone else, his body failing him. Not that he would ever let his deepest fear on to anybody. Just like he would never let on to anybody how much his body was already betraying him. He could feel the tremors in his hands growing stronger, the journey of words from his brain to his mouth more difficult. He shuddered at the thought of ending up alone in some godforsaken hospital, being sponge-bathed by some old, rough nurse, not being able to talk.

“Douglas, how long has this been going on for?”

“A few weeks,” he said, not wanting to admit it and at the same time desperate to confide in someone what he’d been going through, “It was fine at first, just a niggling headache every so often. They started getting worse until every morning I woke up feeling like my head had been run over by a truck. I’d take a couple of painkillers and I would be fine by the time I got to the airfield. Then the drugs seemed to stop working so I tried something stronger. Soon the pain was so bad in the mornings half the time I would vomit from the pain, that’s when the nausea pills came in, I didn't think anyone would have appreciated me decorating poor old GERTI's interior with sick.”

“Douglas! That’s really bad, you need to go to a hospital! Or at least a doctor! It sounds serious!”

This was exactly why he didn’t tell anyone, it was exactly the reaction he’d expected.

“No hospitals.”

“Fine, a doctor then.”

Douglas opened his mouth to argue.

“I’ll take you tomorrow,” Martin said ending the case, “Lets get you into bed.”

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me,” Martin whispered, closing the door.

This helped Douglas relax slightly; Martin wasn’t leaving. He wouldn’t be alone, if only for the night. However, minutes later, sitting propped up against the many pillows Martin had stuck behind him, the relief faded and Douglas felt more helpless than ever. If it got any worse than this he would have to find his own way out before he lost the ability to decide for himself. It would be ok, there was no one left to miss him, he had no real attachments. Sure, he assumed his daughter would be a tiny bit sad, but he hardly saw her and was hardly an ideal father figure anyway. She would be better off without him, he assured himself. The only other people who would notice him missing were the other MJN crew. Carolyn could find another pilot easily enough, and Martin was hardly as bad a pilot as he was made out to be. They would be fine.

Eventually, Douglas drifted off into uneasy sleep, thoughts of ending his own life swimming round and round in his head.

***

“Martin! Martin! Where are you? Martin!”

Douglas’ shouts woke Martin with a start, almost falling off the couch he was sleeping on. Racing up the stairs he flew into the bedroom, not knowing what to expect. Douglas was sitting up in the bed, his eyes all glazed over like he wasn’t looking at anything in particular.

“Martin?” he half whispered.

“Yeah. What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I- I can’t see.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I bloody well can’t see a thing! I’ve gone blind.” His voice cracked and Martin could hear the utter terror in the man’s voice.

“Okay. It’s okay. I’m calling the doctor’s surgery now,” he said trying to keep his voice as calm as possible, “Just try to relax.”

Douglas slumped back into the pillows on the bed, Martin watched him carefully out of the corner of his eye as dialled the number for the surgery. All of a sudden Douglas’ eyes rolled back in his head and his muscles tensed up. Martin couldn’t help his cry as he dropped the phone and dove to stop him falling off the bed. Martin waited until the convulsions had eased before groping around on the ground for his discarded phone. With shaking fingers he dialled 999.

“Emergency. What service?”

“Ambulance. I need an ambulance.”

The sound of sirens greeted his thankful ears and Martin could hear his heart in his chest as the paramedics rapped on the front door.

“It’s open,” he called down the stairs, “Upstairs!”

At the sight of two paramedics running up the stairs, Martin collapsed back on the bed with a mixture of relief and dread. He watched in shock as they loaded Douglas’ limp body onto the stretcher and carried him down to the ambulance. He followed, still clad in plaid pyjama pants and old t-shirt and sat in the back of the ambulance with the unconscious Douglas all the way to the hospital while the paramedics did their work.

The sight of Douglas, pipes sticking out of his mouth and wires all over him made Martin feel physically sick. He couldn’t stand to see him like this, but how could he leave? He retreated to the waiting room and shakily dialled Carolyn, who raced over as quickly as she could. Arthur was out and they’d decided not to upset him with the news just yet.

“I had no idea,” Carolyn muttered, distractedly looking for signs of movement from the room Douglas was being held.

“None of us did,” Martin consoled her while feeling internally guilty. He had noticed but he hadn’t done anything. This was his fault.

“I should have noticed!” Carolyn wailed, sounding so un-Carolyn-like that Martin almost had to remind himself who he was talking to.

“You couldn’t have, Douglas is a notoriously private man when he wants to be. If he didn’t want us to know something, he’d make sure we didn’t find out. You can’t blame yourself.”

“Yes, I guess you’re right,” she replied, the conversation trailing off into slightly awkward silence.

When the nurses had finished they let Martin and Carolyn in to see the still unconscious Douglas. Martin took the chair next to the bed, Carolyn standing awkwardly against the wall.

Martin found himself staring at the soft rise and fall of Douglas’ broad chest, taking small comfort in the fact that he was still breathing.

A few hours later a large sigh from Douglas jerked Martin back from his thoughts.

“Christ, Douglas you sure know how to give someone a fright!” cried Martin, glad to finally see his First Officer awake again.

“Sorry,” he managed. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. He was stuck in a hospital, the last place he’d wanted to be, he was blind and there was basically no chance of him fulfilling the promise he had made himself last night. He couldn’t think of a worse scenario to be in.

Carolyn couldn’t stand being in the room and left, excusing herself under the pretence of getting coffee, just as the doctor arrived.

“Douglas, welcome back. I’d like a quick word with you if you’re feeling up to it, we’ve just got some of your test results back.”

“I’ll just go then,” Martin said quietly, sneaking away from Douglas’ bedside. He felt a tug at his arm and looked down to see Douglas’ hand gripping his sleeve.

“Stay,” he pleaded. Martin sat back down on the tiny hospital bed next to Douglas and felt his hand lightly gripping his arm, like he wanted to know he was still there.

“Okay, Douglas, I am terribly sorry, but I’m afraid it’s not good news. Your seizure was caused by a large tumour that has developed inside your brain. Due to the location and size of the tumour, I’m afraid we won’t be able to operate; it would just be roo risky. I’m so sorry. We will do all we can to make you as comfortable as possible.”

The silence that fell on the small room was deafening. Douglas’ face was completely devoid of any emotion whatsoever. He’d already accepted his fate, he knew as soon as he lost his vision that his life was over, the tumour was just a convenient exit, even though it was what had caused him all the pain in the first place.  
On the other hand, Martin’s world was crashing around him. The closest thing he’d had to a friend in years was going to die. His small little family of four was going to lose a member and he couldn’t bear it. He felt tears cascading down his face but he didn’t care, the only person he was worried about seeing them couldn’t see him anyway.

***

“I brought you coffee,” came Carolyn’s soft voice in the darkened room. Martin didn’t know how long he’d been asleep for, but his face felt numb from being pressed up against the wall and his legs were curled up at an uncomfortable angle on the plastic chair.

“Thanks,” he said, stretching his legs gingerly and gratefully taking the steaming cup from her slightly shaking hands.

“I’d better be off, Arthur will probably be wondering where I am by now and I don’t trust him alone in the kitchen.”

***

The sun was just rising outside the small window when Douglas stirred. He’d been drifting in and out of sleep all night. Martin could just make out his face in the half-light. He looked utterly exhausted, like there was no life left in him.

“Martin, I’m scared,” he whispered.

Martin knew what he was saying, and grabbed his weak hand in his own.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here,” he managed through his tears, “It’ll be just like flying.”

The young pilot watched in horror as Douglas’ eyes closed and with a last, long sigh his chest stopped moving.

Martin could hear loud sobs over the sound of machines beeping wildly. Somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that the unfamiliar sound was coming from him but he didn’t care. Nurses and doctors were rushing around him and he found himself suddenly outside the room, watching the commotion through the small window in the door. Every so often he caught a glimpse of Douglas’ limp body, he looked so peaceful he might have been sleeping. He couldn’t tell how long he was standing there before a warm hand on his shoulder brought him out of his daze.

He turned to face Carolyn, a distraught looking Arthur in tow and collapsed into her arms. She almost caught him and together they fell to the ground, both sobbing as hard as each other. Arthur looked as if he didn’t know what to feel. He just sank to the floor next to them and stared off into the distance.

***

The funeral was a sombre affair. The three remaining MJN crew stood together, Martin in a new black suit and tie Carolyn had bought him, watching the various family members, ex-wives and children milling around, some in tears, others stony faced. There were a group of what were obviously pilots he’d known from previous jobs, smartly dressed in their suits and conversing seriously.

The service was tasteful, but it didn’t do the man justice, Martin felt as though the rest of the world should have stopped. The young man couldn’t help the tears streaming down his face as he watched his friend’s coffin, adorned with his old captain’s hat, being lowered into the ground. He could hear Carolyn sniffling next to him, but Arthur was the loudest of them all, sobbing loudly into his handkerchief.

Standing awkwardly next to each other after the service, there didn’t seem to be anything to say, so they stood in solemn silence until Carolyn suggested they go out to dinner to celebrate Douglas.

As it turns out, three is an awkward number to seat at a restaurant and the fourth place at the table was a constant reminder of the missing member of the MJN family. As hard as they tried, none of them could really stomach the food, the feeble conversation that flared up every so often dying out when none of them could think of anything else to say.

“No, Arthur, I don’t know… what you… call… a…”

“Skip?”

“Sorry, I just automatically waited for Douglas to say something sarcastic.”

“Yeah, he would’ve had something in there, wouldn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

They all looked at the barely touched plates, still not being able to meet each other’s eyes. Then Arthur piped up with a funny memory of Douglas and just like that, Martin was laughing in spite of himself and soon Arthur had caught it too. Then Carolyn was chuckling and they spent the rest of the night recounting their best memories of their one and only Sky God.


End file.
